


Transient

by Vatta (Vitani)



Series: Appropriation [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Royal AU, appointed temporary moirail, references to questionable consent (but nothing major)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitani/pseuds/Vatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i></i><b>Tran·sient: Noun</b><br/>A person who is staying or working in a place for only a short time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transient

The palace is beautiful this season. There are grand gardens full of lush green grass and topiaries shaped like different, exotic beasts, in which every leaf is hand trimmed every day to ensure the quality of the sculpting. There are ponds and swimming pools around the outside of your paradise. You had considered getting a moat, but the Heiress dissuaded you, she said you were just being, “silly and flam-buoyant to impress people that you do knot need to impress!” She had a point. These people weren’t worth your time.

You come back to yourself when you remember that you were in a meeting. Ah yes, wartime.

“So, prince Ampora, we will need your full cooperation in this manoeuvre. Of course that is… If you wish to go ahead with the original plan, your grace.”

You lean down and make a show of observing the little plastic figures spread around on the replica battleground in front of you. All you can ever think about when you look at all the miniature soldiers is how intricate the craftsmanship is on them. Their little faces are even painted, looks of endearment, determination, loyalty to the crown. Like they really are the ones going into battle. You’ve seen battle, you know those faces.

“Your highness?”

“Yeah. I’m just thinkin’. Isn’t this all a little simple?” You wave your hand dismissively at the blueblood across the table from you. You stare with rapt interest at the pieces of the realistic re-enactment of chess before you. “Couldn’t we…” You reach out and grab a random handful of soldiers from the front line, as you carry them over the horizon you drop one, and for a moment, you imagine being a titan, imagine your pawns screaming and clutching at you as you gently spill them over the other side of a hill. “If we place a few men here.” You walk your bejewelled fingers from their current position, marking out a trail, and you peek up at your Generals around the table individually. You have them eating out of the palm of your hand. “We could stage a distraction. The front line that is.” You use your free hand to indicate said sacrifice. “Then these little guys here, well… They can sneak up behind an’ cause some real fuckin’ damage.”

“Your excellency…” One of your Agents starts, he’s a green, barely high enough to be stood within a 50 foot radius of you. You eye him suspiciously as you circle the table towards him. His eyes widen. “With all due respect, and I ensure you I mean no offense… I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. We don’t have that many, erm… individuals in the front line as it is. If we take any more away then-”

You stop him with an innocent hand on his shoulder. “How long have you been a member a’ my military division?” You inspect your rings on your other hand, he swallows.

“Nearly a sweep now sir. And it has been my honour, I am very appreciative of-”

You squeeze your hand, perfectly manicured nails digging into his skin. “And if you’d like to keep your position… You better watch that pretty mouth a’ yours.” You flick him in the cheek at the edge of his mouth for effect, and give him a predatory smirk. Then you turn to your other companions, all pointedly staring at the soldiers on the table, you look down too. You pick up the one that symbolises your favourite General and smile across the table at him. He looks you in the eyes and you absently rub your thumb across a horn sticking out of the figure’s helmet. “Now if we’re done here I suppose I can trust somebody to get this all sorted. Yes?”

Your little greenblood nods a little too fast and you can feel the discomfort of your nails still digging in. All three of the blues nod solemnly. And your favourite Seadweller gives you a fond smile, he’s only a slight shade bluer than yourself, not quite violet, you’re glad. You wouldn’t have liked to kill him for your current position as highest blood in the military. He’s a valuable asset.

The blueblood girl pipes up finally. “I’ll get on sending some more of my guys to the front. Then we should have enough fuckers for this whole mess.” She drags out the o in whole for a little too long to be necessary. 

“Then I’ll leave this in your capable hands General Serket.” You give her a small bow which she returns, then you leave without even acknowledging the rest of them.

Spineless cowards.

…

As you laze around your more personal side of the Palace later that night, you can’t help thinking about contacting the Heiress, asking how she’s doing, telling her about today’s war meeting.

There’s a knock on your door and one of your sla- servants enters. She glides in through the door and gives you a small bow, you wave your hand at her to speak.

“Your highness, forgive my intrusion.” You nod. “The Heiress is here to see you.”

“I’ll see her in the evening room.” You give your little servant a fond smile, and she blushes and shuffles awkwardly out of the room.

When you get to the evening room the Heiress is already there, the frills and ruffles of her pink dress splayed out on either side of her over the loveseat. Her hair held up with ribbons almost pristinely aside from two curls that have fallen from it to frame her face perfectly. She’s sipping a small cup of tea and scrunching her nose as she adds in a few sugar cubes. She looks beautiful as always.

She spots you and breaks out into the cutest grin you’ve seen since the last time you saw her. You bow, your spine almost reaching 90 degrees out of respect. She giggles.

“Don’t be so formal!”

“I’m sorry Heiress, it’s the rules.” You smile and shrug as you head over to the armchair opposite her. Your servant offers you a cup and saucer, which you take, and your little Rustblood pours you tea as your company proceeds to slump her shoulders and huff into her teacup like a child who didn’t get her own way at a tea party, she’s so cute.

“Don’t call me ‘Heiress’ you big dummy. You know I hate ‘The Rules’.” You catch her eyes and she looks like you may have genuinely upset her, you try to ignore it in favour of correcting yourself.

“Sorry Fef. You know I’m just bein’ proper.” You take a sip of your tea and smile at her. “If you tell me to disregard the rules however, that’s a different matter.”

“Well then, Eridan. I ORDER you to forget those stupid rules when I’m around.”

“’Cept if we’re in company.” You correct. “Servants notwithstandin’. Strictly if anyone catches me callin’ you that, there could be rumours.”

Her eyes widen a little in confusion, until her face turns more to a sort of ‘oh’. “Yeah… Shore, well then, when we’re alone. Or well, you know. I like your servants anemone-way, especially A-ray-dia.” She smiles at your little helper as she sips her tea some more.

“Yeah, well I handpicked her. My taste knows no bounds, remember.” Fef giggles at you. “Anyway, as much as I love your company, was there anything specific you wanted? Or did you just want to see your favourite prince.”

“Honestly Eridan. You’re the ONLY prince that isn’t trying to steal my kingdom, of COURSE you’re my favourite prince.”

“Don’t sound too put out about it will you.” You pout.

She giggles again. “But YES! There was something I wanted to shell you!” She offers her empty teacup to Aradia, who takes it and places it onto the little table beside her with a clink. “YOU, Mr silly gills, are getting assigned a temporary Moirai-eel!”

You stare at her in disbelief for a few moments. Her look of excitement seems to falter at your own blank expression. “I’m- what?”

“You… Needed a Moirail, right? Well, I made some arrangements and got you one. It’s only temporary of course, they don’t like you getting too attached.”

“Oh. Right, yes.” You’d almost forgotten that conversation. Almost. It had been not long after you two had broken up your own Moirallegiance, Fef felt as if you needed constant attention and she was too busy with royal duties to give you the time you needed so she called it off. Not on bad terms, of course, you had your own duties to attend to, and as the Heiress to the empire, she needed a much more stable Moirail. She had said that there were procedures set up for Highbloods to have stand-in Moirails. She told you about them, Limebloods. All perfectly trained to speak only when spoken to, never talk back, do as they were told. They sounded awful.

She took you to the facility where they were trained. You were introduced to a few of them, blank expressions as if they only knew to please and take orders. They were so much more awful than you ever could have imagined. The thought of having one of those soulless slaves dote on you made your skin crawl. How could any of them seriously have a conciliatory bone in their body? there was no passion, no feeling. 

“I picked you one out myself. I know how picky you are with your servants, so I hope I did a good job.” She looks almost apologetic, and it breaks your heart. You reach forward, untangle one of her hands from her lap, and lace your fingers with hers.

“I’m sure they’re fine if you chose ‘em. I just don’t know how I’m gonna open up to someone I’ve never met.” You stare down and your entwined fingers thoughtfully and she strokes your knuckles with her thumb.

“It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

…

The next evening you’re in the saltwater pool, just below the surface. Your gills have been aching recently and you think it may be due to stress. There’s a lot going on in the Palace today and you’re just trying to relax, listen to the sloshing of the pool water, the beasts out in the nearby forest, watch the reflection of the moonlight dance on the surface of the water as the tension leaves you in waves.

You can hear Aradia from the surface. You slowly poke your head up so your ears are just out of the water but your nose is still submerged.

“Your highness, there’s someone here to see you. She says she… Has a gift for you.” She hesitates for a moment when you don’t answer. “Should I show her inside or bring her to you?”

You sigh, which causes bubbles to rise to the surface and pop, tickling your nose.

“Show ‘er in. I better get dressed.” As you haul yourself out of the water by the poolside - completely disregarding the ladder that was thoughtfully installed - your servant goes off to presumably get your company comfortable. You towel yourself down as best you can, and for a moment you entertain the thought of just going back in wearing nothing but your towel like you would have when you were younger, but If you accidentally drop said towel, you could probably get in trouble for some kind of assault. You remind yourself that it’s in your best interest to put some clothes on.

Once you’re dressed in a simple white shirt and black pants, you keep hold of your towel, absently rubbing at your hair, partly to show why you’re not dressed very formally, even though this is your home and you weren’t expecting company.

On arriving back inside the palace, another of your servants greets you and guides you towards the room your company is presently occupying.

You bow at the jadeblood who apparently refused the offer to sit. You glance at Aradia and she shrugs from behind her. You go to bow to your other guest but they’re covered by a cloak and can’t see you, so you refrain.

“To what may I owe the pleasure?” you ask, genuinely interested, you don’t often get company outside of Fef.

“It is my understanding that the Heiress has arranged for you to have some… Company.” The cloaked figure twitches slightly.

“Oh, so this is the Limeblood?” you say it almost in spite, you really don’t like the condescending looks they were giving you when Fef showed you around the training facility. Like you were just another highblood that could snap at any moment - because you have no control over basic functions like restraint and patience - and needed to be papped back into place.

“Ah, I see you were not completely briefed on the situation. My student is, ‘special’. I suppose I can entrust him in your care? He is a very important part of my life, personally.”

“Uhh, sure…” You look at her questioningly, and as if reading your mind, she proceeds to tell you her name.

“Kanaya Maryam.”

“Oh, well sure Kan, and you are?” You gesture at the cloaked figure stood next to her, whoever it is, is either quite a bit shorter than her or is just slouching, or both.

“He does not go by his hatch name. He is known as the Imperial Placater. He is a specialist. And you should feel privileged to even be in the same room as him. Please do not leave the palace with him without disguising him and bringing guards. Not that I believe you ever leave without guards.” She says the last bit with enough sarcasm to make you lose your focus, and she gives you a sly little smirk. You just know that she has some idea that you’ve been disguising yourself and leaving the palace in the night to go out and party.

“Imperial, huh. Can’t he speak for himself?”

“He can, but he is not allowed to. He will only speak if you engage him in any pale solicitations.”

“Feelin’s jams?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… So can I at least take him out in the garden without my entire fleet a’ body guards?”

“If you so wish. As long as he is safe. If anything happens to him, your position could be in great jeopardy.”

“Right. Can I send ‘im back is he’s faulty?” You laugh.

She returns it with an elegant chuckle of her own. “I assure you he is not. He is very good at what he does.” She rests a hand on his shoulder and you swear you can hear a very low growl from under that hood. “You have him for one perigee. If things go well, than we shall make further arrangements. But it shall not be very long. I shall leave my contact details with your servant, if thing’s do not work out, do not hesitate to contact me. Either of you.”

Her hand lingers on his shoulder as she makes to leave, and he lifts his arm so her hand trails down to his own, he almost tries to clutch her hand as she finally disengages from him.

She exits through the door and doesn’t turn back as she says, “I trust you are in good company.” You’re not sure who she directed that at, you think it was him. Maybe it was both of you.

You turn to your new houseguest. What are you supposed to do now?

“So, you have a title, huh? How’d you get that?”

He says nothing, aside from slightly stiffening as he’s addressed.

“Right, you’re not allowed to talk.” You rub at the back of your neck; this is so awkward. “Well, I was in the pool when you guys got here, you mind if we go back out?”

Again he says nothing, not even acknowledging you said something. Frustrated with this arrangement already, you just huff and stomp out the door and back to the garden.

…

You didn’t even check if he followed you when you swiftly removed your clothing and dived back into the swimming pool, so you’re surprised when you surface, after at least twenty minutes, to see him sat on a bench at the edge of the pool, talking to Aradia.

Obviously he’s just not allowed to talk to you.

You clear your throat and your servant bolts upright from leaning over the bench to look at him, your houseguest still has his hood up you note, even though it’s a perfectly warm night.

“Towel.” You hold your hand out to her and she scurries off to the other side of the pool to fetch it. when she approaches the edge you pull yourself up out of the pool and she holds the towel up so your guest doesn’t get any more of a free show.

You lean in to whisper to her. “I thought he wasn’t allowed speak.”

She gives you an almost guilty look. As much as she is an amazing servant she is often troublesome, you just can’t bring yourself to get her culled for anything she does wrong though. For a Rustblood, she’s alright. She holds herself like a highblood, and she was the one who first persuaded you to leave the palace at night with her. He’s showed you so many things, and she’s been with you since the beginning.

You smile and heave a wistful breath. “It’s alright. I’m not mad. It’ll help anyway, how else am I supposed to know if he wants anythin’?” You pat her on the arm as she starts drying you off. You don’t normally let people touch you like this, but you’ll let her do her job this time as an apology.

Your new not-Moirail just sits there the entire time, he’s facing you, so you think he’s watching the both of you, but he can’t hear from the other side of the pool.

Aradia finishes dressing you then you walk around the edge of the pool to your guest and offer him a hand to help him up off the bench. His head twitches to look at your hand, it’s a shame you can’t see his expression, the way he’s holding himself looks defiant. You imagine he’d be scowling at you under that ridiculous black hood.

“Shall we go and have some dinner?” He does in fact take your hand, and you pull him up gently and let his hand slip from yours as you turn to head back inside.

…

This goes on for a few days, the constant silence, the awkwardness of catching him talking to Aradia behind your back. He never speaks to any of your other servants you notice, just her.

Fef comes over one day to meet him in person, she offers her hand to him and he takes it without any sign of hesitation and kisses it. You catch a quick flash of his face as he leans down, she’s not at the right angle to see it, he’s still hiding from everyone. You’re not sure why he hides, you had toyed with the thought that maybe he’d got into some horrible accident or confrontation and was scarred or deformed in some way. Honestly it helped, you hadn’t wanted to see his face in fear of him being repulsive. But no, he was actually pretty attractive if what you saw gave him any credit.

She smiles at the top of his head, and turns to you as he backs away. “So how are things going?”

He flinches again, and you wonder if you tell her that it’s not going anywhere if he would get in trouble. Obviously he’s not doing his job if he’s not actually doing anything aside from living in your palace and following you around constantly. Perhaps it’s your fault, you’re the one not asking for his help.

“Everything’s great. Thanks.” You smile, and you actually fool yourself for a few brief moments.

…

“So you mean to tell me you failed.” You’re furious. You’re beyond furious, how could this happen? your instructions were simple. 

“It’s not that simple sir Ampora! We tired! We really did!”

“Do not call me ‘sir’. To you I am ‘your highness’, or any variation. I am, in all respects, your better.”

The greenblood nods frantically. You can see his eyes filling with tears as he kneels in front of you. You consider killing him right here. It would be so easy. Just reach your hands forward, grab either side of his face and twist.

You hadn’t realised you were actually leaning that close to him, or that you were touching his face until there’s a hand on your shoulder. You look back to see that damned guy in the hood that’s become a permanent fixture in your life lately. This is the first time he’s actually had to do anything, and you can see his face, as you’re kneeling on the floor looking up at him. He has a determined look on his face, you wonder if you did kill this fool if he would do anything.

You turn back to you captor, who’s breathing is shallow and pulse is too fast. You decide, he might be a shitty General, but you can still use him for something.

You kiss him.

…

The next evening Aradia wakes you by opening the curtains, the moonlight spills into the room and reflects off every mirrored surface to taunt your very existence. You have the worst headache and it’s so hot that you’re sweating and your sopor slime is gloopy. You turn slightly and remember what happened the day before. You groan, and Aradia sits on the edge of your recuperacoon next to you, offering you a glass of water.

“How are you this evening, your majesty?”

“Fuckin’ wrecked.”

“Are you feeling better?” She has this knowing look that tells you she already knows you are.

“Yeah. Guess I’m glad I didn’t kill ‘im now.”

Said him has woken up and probably heard the entire conversation. You point at the door, and he quickly gets dressed and leaves without any arguments.

“I suppose you should thank his imperialness then?”

“Huh?”

“Your Moirail. He stopped you from killing him. Didn’t he?”

You consider this, and wave her off. “He’s supposed to be my Moirail, not my Auspistice.” She frowns at you, which alone any other servant would get culled for. “Fine! I’ll thank him later. Happy?”

“Yes.”

She helps you get dressed while making comments about your fashion choices. You assure her that yes, everything has to be in your blood colour or black. You are a prince godammit.

…

When you get to the breakfast table your guest is already there, and for once, he doesn’t have his hood up, you think he hasn’t noticed you so you just linger by the door outside of his peripheral and watch him. He has some kind of toast and is reading a book, his short, rounded horns are barely visible under his hair, which is a mess, he looks like he just got up, and he probably has. He sips something that you can smell enough from here to identify as coffee, and then he catches you staring at him.

He immediately replaces his hood.

“You don’t have to do that you know. I’ve seen you now.” You say it in a slightly mocking tone, and he grunts, pulling his hood back down again and going back to reading. That was a lot simpler than you thought it would be.

You sit at the table and one of your servants brings you something in a bowl that you’re too tired to examine in too much detail. As you eat, you remember your conversation with Aradia.

“So…Thanks.” He looks up from reading with an almost confused expression. You watch his face, the longer you don’t elaborate the more agitated he looks, and it’s amusing. He’s probably not a morning person either. His eyebrows draw together slowly, and you zone out enough that when you come back to yourself he’s full out frowning at you. It’s adorable.

“Sorry, I spaced out.” You rub at your forehead and he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, sorry for snapping yesterday, thanks for stopping me from doing something stupid. I’ve just been stressed.”

“Don’t mention it.” You blink. He’s gone back to reading, was he seriously ignoring you while you were talking? Did you even hear him say anything?

Instead of coming up with some clever question about his sudden lapse in the silent treatment, you end up blurting out, “You’re talking.”

“Well yeah.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed?” You half wonder if he’s breaking the rule for your sake. The other half thinks you must still be asleep and this is a dream, that part also wonders if you’ve been asleep for too long because wow you’re head hurts.

He just sighs like the most put upon person in the entire universe and folds the corner of the page he’s on, placing the book open, pages down on the table. “I can talk if you initiate a feelings jam.”

“Is that what this is?”

He shrugs and lean back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Well I’m supposed to be your Moirail right?” you nod. “And you were talking about your ‘feelings’ yeah?” you nod again, you feel like he’s being very condescending, but you’ll forgive him, it is early, you are a little slow right now. “Right, then this is a feelings jam. Hi.”

You suddenly remember that this is the first time he’s spoken to you and you smile. “Hey.”

“So… Feelings:” He lifts and spreads his arms in a gesture that looks like it was supposed to symbolise vomiting more than ‘feelings’.

“Well, I don’t know where to start.” You run your hand through your hair and think. “I guess things are just getting’ to me. You know?”

He nods, and waves his hand as if telling you to continue. “Like…”

“Oh. War stuff?”

“’War stuff’. Honestly ‘your highness’, you are so eloquent, please teach me your ways with the Alternian language.”

“Hey.” You try not to shout, annoyed. “I can get you culled for saying something like that.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. You wouldn’t though.” You wonder briefly if you would. You think you could.

“You better not be countin’ on that.”

“Or what? What part of ‘if anything happens to him your position could be in jeopardy’ did you not understand?” He glares at you, but he doesn’t sound angry, just exasperated. “Honestly, you may be friends with the Heiress, but I am way more important than you are to the empire.”

You try and say something clever as a retort, try, and fail.

“Is that so? Is that why YOU are the one currently under MY employ.” That was a low blow, but it was all you could think of.

“Okay, so you’ve got some command issues. That’s a good start.”

“Wait… You’re trying to psychoanalyze me right now?”

“That’s what Moirails do. They find out what’s wrong and try to fix it.” He looks smug, as if he knows how to ‘fix’ anything and would succeed if he tried.

“I don’t get you. I don’t get THIS! What is even the point… Who do you think you are?”

“Your appointed Moirail. And if we’re done with the feelings jam and you’re just going to yell at me some more, then I’ll return to not talking. You can do enough of that for me.”

“Fuck you.”

He shrugs, and picks his book back up, you storm out of the room and go out into the garden.

He doesn’t follow you.

…

There’s another war meeting this evening. You’re not in the mood for it, but you have to go, you are the prince after all.

All the captains are around the table, nudging the inanimate troll replicas around the scenery once again, this happens once to twice a week, sometimes even three times. And with how rough some people are with them, you could definitely say that these little wooden figures are more versatile than real soldiers.

You’re not thinking straight. You don’t even realise this as you’re guided from the room, you stare blankly at whoever’s hand it is holding your own. They’re firm but gentle, holding tight enough that you probably couldn’t wrench away if you tried, but you don’t feel trapped.

You don’t feel anything.

You’re stopped by a nudge to the chest and whoever it is guides you sit with their hands on your shoulders. You’re not sure where you are, you zone out and stare at the ground. You slowly phase in and out of reality, one time you’re sat on your own, next, whoever’s there has hold of your hand, next their stroking your face, your hair, your back. When you finally come back to reality permanently, you wonder how you didn’t guess it was your damn, re-hooded not-Moirail. You’re slumped back on a red couch somewhere you don’t recognise and he’s got his head resting on your chest. You think he might be asleep so you don’t move for a while.

Not until he shifts and ends up on his back, stretched across your lap and looking up at you. You try not to look back at him, maybe make him think you’re still not all there to save the embarrassment of him thinking you enjoyed being all cuddled up with him, technically a complete stranger still. He sighs and waves his hand in front of your face, you try not to blink. He sighs and turns into you to curl around your middle, his hip digging into your leg almost painfully, but you can’t bring yourself to move. He’s warm in a way you’ve never felt from someone else, maybe even as warm as Aradia, which is strange, because he should be cooler than this, he’s not that low.

After a small internal debate which ended in you deciding that ‘he has to do this, this is his job’, you surrender to yourself and let your hand rest on his head, he flinches, but doesn’t move.

You pull his hood back and twist your fingers in his hair, it’s a lot softer than it looks, and he purrs quietly into your side, nuzzling into you more. It’s nice, a shame it’s not genuine, but you’re a prince… No one could ever pity you. Not that there’s anything to pity of course.

He pulls back enough to look up at you again, and this time you let your eyes fall on his. “You okay?”

You don’t say anything, just nod and keep petting his hair. He lets you, and lies back down.

You fall asleep like that.

…

You’re dreaming, you hope.

There’s blood everywhere, ever colour except your own and Fef’s, streaking the walls of a nondescript cave.

You’re walking, it’s dark, cold, damp and every other horrible description you can’t think of right now.

There’s a shrill scream you think you recognise, and you run to wherever it’s coming from, feet slamming into the ground and sloshing in soft mud as you emerge on the outside.

You’re panting for breath so hard and your lungs burn, you whip your head around, trying to listen for that awful screaming. There’s nothing. No sound anywhere but your own struggling breaths.

You hold your breath so you can hear better, but there’s still nothing save your pulse in your own ears. You let out all your air in one puff and look around, take inventory of your situation.

It’s not dark anymore, it’s quite bright actually, it must be dawn, you should really get back inside.

You hear the screaming and you don’t even think as you race toward it.

When you reach an opening you stop, look around. Suddenly you’re trapped.

You stay calm and wait.

There’s a pounding and you look up, there’s a monster smashing it’s fists down on the glass roof of your enclosure, but it can’t get in. you catch the look in it’s eyes.

Intent.

When the beast smashes through the roof and the shards of glass shred through your entire body you wake with a jolt.

You’re not alone.

You leap to your feet and try to abscond only to be grabbed by the wrist and pulled back down.

He’s there. Your Moirail-who-doesn’t-even-like-you. He wraps his arms around you as he tries to stop you from running and shooshes you. As you relax back into his embrace he lifts one hand to pat your face and you lean into it.

“It’s okay. It was just a dream. Sorry, I should’ve made you go back to your block”. Your eyes linger on his arm wrapped around your middle as you turn to face him, you can’t see him very well, he has his face pressed into your shoulder blade and his eyes are scrunched shut.

“It’s okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out.” You try to pull away to get comfortable, because honestly your half on his lap and his legs are bony. He resists for just a moment, thinking you’re going to try and leave still, until he releases you a little quickly and you flop onto the couch beside him.

“What did you dream about?” He’s quiet, not that you really know how he talks, but he’s quieter than you, and it sounds like he’s really trying to stay at a suitable volume as all your servants should be asleep.

“I don’t remember. It’s stupid.” You rub at your head; fuck do you hate dayterrors.

“Dreams are never stupid. You can be by denying them, but they can’t be.”

You sigh and slump back over the arm of the couch trying to get comfortable. To your confusion, he follows you, nudging at your arm to get under it and lying on the outside edge, resting his head on your shoulder with his arms all snuggled up to his chest. You don’t know what to do with your hand, so you just let it hang over the edge.

“Tell me.”

You think about it, it’s not a big deal, right? Maybe he was trained to read dreams and he can tell you what it means, or reassure you that it was indeed nothing.

“I was in this cave.” You peer down at him to see he’s nestled into your side quite comfortably with his eyes closed. “There was… Blood everywhere.” You don’t pause because blood freaks you out, it doesn’t bother you at all. It’s for his benefit, maybe he doesn’t like blood. He doesn’t react though. “An’ I heard this screamin’, so I followed it. Then I ended up in this giant glass cage and this… Monster? Was bangin’ on the roof. I woke up as it smashed through an’ the glass started tearin’ me up.”

“Hmm.” It’s not a contemplative hmm, more of an affirmation. At least he was listening.

You loll your head to the side slightly to rest your cheek bone on the top of his head.

“Feel better?”

“kinda’. Thanks.”

…

You wake to a knock at the door.

“Karkat, I don’t know if you’re not feeling well, but I brought you breakfast, it’s already midnight! Are you coming out tonight?”

“Aradia shut the fuck up!” you hear the door click open, you decide to pretend to be asleep.

“Huh, why? What’s the matter?” There’s a quiet shuffling, then an even quieter “OH!”

More whispering, “Fucks sake how many times have I told you not to call me that.”

“Sorry, geez. Habit.”

You wonder what they’re talking about, then it hits you. ‘Karkat’, that must be his name. You suddenly find yourself pondering how Aradia knows that.

“Well thanks anyway, I lost track of time.”

“Uh huh… so…”

“’So…’ What? “

“Did you two-”

“Fuck you, NO!”

“Shh, you’ll wake him.”

“Do I look like I give a flying fuck?”

An amused sigh, “I meant did you two talk.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s what I’m here for.” He doesn’t sound all that happy about it. You were right.

“Come off it Karkat, I know you don’t mind.”

“ARADIA!”

You shuffle, thinking this would be a perfect time to pretend to be woken up by his shouting. You feel awkward listening to them.

“Your highness, are you awake?”

“Hmm, Ara? Oh right, yeah.”

“Would you like to come for breakfast? It’s midnight, but I’m sure the chefs don’t mind rearranging the schedule.”

“I should fuckin’ hope not. It’s my palace.”

She gives you an awkward but amused noise though her nose, and then looks at Karkat. “Are you coming as well?” He nods, right, not talking.

She leads you both to the breakfast room and things go back to their awkward normal routine for the next few days.

…

Karkat doesn’t even look at you most of the time, his hood is always up and he follows you around rather than walking with you. There are the occasions where you nearly kill one of your inferiors, or when you lose focus and need to be brought back to yourself. In these times he comes to you, takes you away to hide behind closed doors, curls up with you on a couch, or on the floor. He shooshes you, paps your face, lets you cry on his shoulder, pet his hair, he anchors you. It’s nice, but you can’t feel as close to him as you want to. It’s always in the back of your mind, he’s not yours. This is a job.

Also, you should probably stop referring to him as Karkat to yourself, in case you accidently call him that at some point. He’s a professional. He has a title.

“You know, your title is stupid.” You say to him one day. “How am I supposed to call you ‘The Placater’. It sounds like one of those names celebrities give themselves because their real names are borin’. Or a wrestler.” You muse. “Can you fight? I mean you look like you can, despite bein’ a little short.”

He gives you an unimpressed glare, but nods.

“So ARE you a wrestler? That would be hilarious.” He just snorts in dissatisfaction and rests his face in his hands. You wonder if you can rile him up enough to make him say something. “I bet you couldn’t wrestle if you tried. I guarantee I could beat you.” He splits his fingers to peek through them at you; you just stare back at him triumphantly while chewing on something sweet someone put in front of you.

“Well? Can you?” He pulls his hands away from his face and rolls his eyes. You can see that he wants to say something, it’s written all over his face.

Instead, he stands, pulling his cloak off over his head in one fluid movement and letting it land somewhere behind him. You get a better look at him than you ever had before, even in the couple of times you ended up cuddled up with him in those false shows of affection. He’s compact, short obviously, but muscled in ways that you’re not, where you’re toned from swimming constantly in the pools or out in the ocean, he’s built himself through force. You suddenly doubt very much that you would win if you two were to fight, unless you could use your speed against him perhaps. He’d make a nice addition to your army too.

Of course you’re not expecting to fight him, it was all a front. But there he is, stood in front of you challengingly at your breakfast table, you can’t deny him.

You gesture at him to follow you, you head to one of your nearby sitting rooms that you don’t use and shove some furniture back, he copies and moves some more, watching him not even struggle with it is making you anxious. But the thought of actually fighting someone who could be a challenge for you is exhilarating.

You stand in front of him, daring him to say something. But nothing seems to be his favourite thing to say at the moment, so you get into a slight crouch and he mirrors you perfectly.

“Ready?”

He closes his eyes and nods.

Before he can open them again, you’re advancing on him as quick as a flash, but he dodges to the side like you’re nothing but a nuisance, it makes you angry. You manage to grab him and try to pull him down. He’s stubborn, and actually picks you up and flings you across the room with ease. You land on both feet and one hand, slightly skidding on the wooden floor. When you look up, he has the biggest shit eating grin on his face. You imagine he’d be making a douchey comment right about now, but he’s not talking.

“Is that all you’ve got, princess?” Or okay, he is talking. You won’t mention it though, this’ll be a lot less awkward if he’s talking.

“Oh no, trust me, that is not it.” You lunge for him again, making a show of going in for his left. When he takes a defensive stance, you quickly shift at the last second and punch him in the gut on his right side. His knees buckle slightly, but he straightens up and grabs you around the neck before you can fall back.

“That is the most overused tactic there is. I don’t believe I thought you weren’t seriously that uncreative.”

He’s got you in a chokehold, and honestly his arms have never seemed so threatening in your life. He’s not letting go anytime soon, and he is genuinely chocking you. You cough to let him know he’s causing you serious damage, but he doesn’t let up. Honestly it’s a rush, normally people take your high status into account and hold back so they don’t get culled. You suppose he really does think he’s more important than you. That shouldn’t make you as angry as it does.

Somehow, you manage to elbow him in the side and his grip loosens enough for you to swing around and catch him in the face with a left hook. You may have just broken his nose.

He doesn’t move, just stands there rigid and breathing heavily, staring at the floor where his blood is dripping from his face and oh…

“Wow, you’re a rust blood?”

“No.”

“I thought you were all lime- huh?”

“I’m not a rust or a lime you idiot, didn’t you get the fucking memo?”

“Excuse me?” You lift an eyebrow at him and he just huffs and leaves the room. You stand there for a few moments trying to figure out what happened. You finally follow after him.

“Hey! Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me.” You catch up to him pretty easily, you were right, you’re faster. Not that he’s running. You grab his wrist and hold it up behind his head, he refuses to look at you. “What the fuck is up with you?”

“Fucking- let me go!” He turns, and in the better illumination of the hallway, you can see the colour dripping from his nose and trickling down his neck is a lighter shade of red than rust. He catches your confused expression. “I’m the fucking prophet you douche. You know, ’mutantblood’ and all that shit.”

You let go of his hand like he suddenly got a few hundred degrees hotter. “You’re a fuckin’ mutant? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You’re kidding…” He has a serious ‘are you fucking kidding me’ face right now “It’s pretty much public fucking knowledge. I genuinely thought there wasn’t a troll ALIVE who didn’t know about me.”

You scoff indignantly and his eyes narrow. “I suppose I can be forgiven for not knowin’. It’s not like I take an interest in commoner drivel.”

“Commoner?” he practically spits the word at you. “I am far from a fucking commoner. I am a GOD. And YOU should be thankful I’m wasting my fucking time with you!” As he speaks, he’s stepping closer to you, his voice is loud, so loud that everyone in the palace can probably hear him - which isn’t saying much since you’re in a hallway and all the hallways are all connected.

He’s still stepping closer, he’s giving you such a piercing glare that it’s almost as if his eyes are aflame. Eventually you bump into the wall but he’s still advancing until he’s right up in your face despite being a head shorter than you.

“I fucking hate you.” He says with such a flat voice and any other time you’d think he was just saying it for the sake of it. However, right now he must mean it, because he’s kissing you, and, when did that happen?

You don’t kiss him back, you’re in shock.

Should you?

You don’t hate him like that.

You feel something warm against your lips and look down at him, his eyes are shut, scrunched tight like he’s in pain, and he’s-

He’s crying.

You gently try to push him away from you but he bites you lip in retaliation, so you shove him. He doesn’t even resist, just collapses onto the floor and sniffles.

“What the fuck was that?” Luckily your voice is soft and gentle, he still winces when you ask though. He shrugs. “Oh, no. you are not goin’ back to bein’ fuckin’ silent on me.”

“Just fuck you.” His voice is so quiet you barely hear him. You kneel down in front of him, rest your hand on his knees which he immediately pulls up to his chest. “Don’t. Please.” He sounds scared, as if he’s pleading with you.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ hurt you Kar’”

He looks at you with those terrified eyes, his eyelashes are clumped together with reddish tears and he looks confused. “What did you just call me?”

Oh, shit. “Right, sorry. I heard and Ara talkin’ one time an’-”

“No. Shut up.” You shut up. “Just, please. I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t wanna do what?”

“THIS! This whole fucking thing… I can’t do it. I don’t want to be your fucking pretend Moirail anymore.” His voice goes from loud and angry, to quiet and scared and you don’t know what’s wrong with him.

“It’s fine. Tell me what I did?” He looks at you, really looks. Searching for something, sincerity?

“I don’t want to pail you.” He says it carefully, like he thinks you’re going to freak out at him or something.

Your mouth drops open slightly and you just gape at him. “You what?”

“Fuck- I just, I can’t okay. I don’t… know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay I guess?” You try not to laugh; a slight chuckle defies you. “Seein’ as I don’t wanna pail you either. I mean, no offense, but…” You try to smile at him; you don’t know why he thought that, he was the one that kissed you! Shouldn’t you be the one telling him to stop?

“You don’t?”

“Well no… what made you think I did?”

He pulls back and seems to do a mental inventory before coughing up some answers.

“You asked me to fight you.”

“I was only joking.” He looks embarrassed so you correct yourself. “I mean it wasn’t totally a joke. I just didn’t think you’d do it. But it wasn’t THAT kinda’ fight.”

“Oh… well, I thought it was. What with the arrangement.”

“Arrangement? Kar, you’re not makin’ any sense. Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that your imperialness.”

“No no, it’s fine. Just, don’t call me it in front of anyone else. Except Aradia I guess.”

“Okay. Well then you wanna explain to me? ‘Cos I don’t have the first fuckin’ clue a’ what you’re goin’ on about.”

“The arrangement… With me being here.”

“The Moirail thing…”

“Well, sort of. It’s not just Moirallegiance I’m… here for.” He looks down at the floor and rests his forehead on his knees.

“What are you tryin’ to say?”

“Oh my god, don’t make me say it.”

“You’re a fuckin’- No. there is no way… Fef wouldn’t arrange somethin’ like that…”

“I’m not a fucking whore if that’s what you think! Generally, all I do is pale one-night stands for important Highbloods. But apparently YOU are a special case. And I was requested by the Heiress herself.” He quickly adds “but it wasn’t her idea. My boss told me that any kind of advances you make, I should accept…”

“Okay, look. I’m flattered I guess? But I don’t want anything like that. I mean, I don’t need a whore.”

“I’m not a fucking whore!”

“It’s alright, I won’t judge you. We all have to get by one way or another.”

“Oh my god will you shut up! I’m a fucking virgin okay? Else I probably would’ve gone through with it. But not without vomiting, I assure you.”

You laugh and raise both your eyebrows in mock surprise. Before you can say anything however, he interrupts.

“No. Fuck you! I meant I would take pity on your sorry ass.”

“Pity huh?”

“Yes. But not like that. You are the most pitiful thing I’ve ever seen. You actually think you’re better than everyone else. But one day, everything is going to crash down around you and you’ll see how fucking hopeless you are. And no one is going to be there to pick up the pieces.”

“Okay, you’re givin’ me mixed signals. That was pretty black.”

He growls at you, and you’re hit by the thought that he really is adorable, and you want to keep him.

“Can I keep you?” You don’t mean to say it, but the look of utter bafflement on his face is so priceless, you wouldn’t take it back.

“Well we still have a few more days to see if this is going to ‘work out’. And after that you can make arrangements with-”

“No. I mean genuinely. No more of this fake Moirallegiance crap. I don’t think it can even really be classed as that, all you do is listen to me, and I wanna be there for you too.”

He tilts his head, curious, perhaps disbelieving. “Why?”

“Because, ‘you are the most pitiful thing I’ve ever seen’.”

He blushes. “You don’t even know me.” You lift yourself from the ground and offer him a hand to help him stand.

“Then tell me.” He looks at your hand, then your face. And, tentatively, he takes it.

You take him into your favourite sitting room under the full intent of cuddling up with him and making him tell you about himself.


End file.
